Descriptions of human sacrifice and the power of blood magic are commonplace throughout history, but one — Clement Clarke Moore’s ‘TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS — takes place on the eve of a holiday that most consider a time of joy, happiness and generosity. This makes a poem that would be unsettling in any circumstances an intense, dark and enduring tale of supernatural horror.
Set on the eve of the eponymous Christian feast day, the book begins innocently enough, with a desperately poor family bedding down for the night in their rodent-infested hovel. The home’s malnourished children sleep, dreaming not of extravagant gifts, but paltry sweets that might ease the pain of their bloated bellies; they hope against hope that simple balls of sugar might replace their hunger pangs with, for at least a little while, a pittance of holiday cheer before they have to set out on another day of begging on street corners.
But the narrator, the patriarch of this pitiful clan, has altogether different designs. With his totems strung precisely according to the diagrams in the Necronomicon — and near the one place in his hovel that stinks of Hell’s burning brimstone — he waits for his children and wife to fall soundly asleep, perhaps as a result of stupor-inducing philters slipped in with their gruel. Donning his wizard’s hat, he attempts to doze, knowing that the power of dreams is crucial to his summoning ritual.
That sleep is short-lived, to his delight and his unknowing family’s doom. A noise wakes him, and, running to the window, the summoner finally sees evidence that all his preparations are finally bearing fruit: He sees the emergence of Nicholas, the Devil’s messenger, towed in a sleigh made of human bones and towed by an octet of snarling, demonic minions.
Compelled by the summoning ritual, the terrible procession alights on the hovel’s roof, and the archdemon descends through the chimney to meet the man who has conjured it. Wreathed in the smoke of the Lower Realms and chewing on a blackened fingerbone, the demon and summoner exchange a wordless gaze, their eye contact cementing the particulars of the ritual and the fate of the narrator’s family.
The demon’s cheeks flush as it drains the life from the narrator’s sleeping wife and children, and transfers a portion of this eldritch essence into the space that once contained the man’s soul. Despite feeling a twinge of guilt over discarding his family for his own selfish ends, the man laughs as he feels his new power, knowing that his life of poverty and powerlessness is over forever.
No longer bound by the summoning totems, the demon leaves with a gesture of contempt, and it offers the man an uncharacteristically jolly farewell, because it knows full well that the dark energy bestowed upon the newly single and childless narrator will corrupt him in subtle and insidious ways, driving him to offer up an ever-increasing amount of human sacrifices to maintain his unholy power.
Despite its age, ‘TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS is a sure favorite for fans of supernatural horror, but because of its intensity and subject matter, it’s a work best read safely away from the Yuletide season — it can inspire dreams that are far more unsettling than sugar plums. —Ryun Patterson
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It is worth noting that the grimoire specifically referenced in the link features images that magically come to life by some dark magic called animotion (animotion enchantment trademarked by Accord Publishing).
You, sir, are a Grinch. A Grinch, I say!
Actually, The Grinch might have been even better material to use.
he’s joking retard
If anyone’s going to be called names here, it should be me. So please direct all bile toward the author and no commenters will get hurt.
You, “sir”, are a fop and a cad! If you were standing before me, you would feel the sharp sting of my leather glove as I slapped it across your cowardly cheek. You are an abomination that must be destroyed and it would be my pleasure to be the vehicle of that destruction! Taste my bile! TASTE IT!
Oh, and hilarious article btw.
That’s what I’m saying. I think anonymous Internet insults really need to step it up a bit. That vicious barb right there is at least 15 times more hurtful than “you suck.” The trolls of myth were beautiful in their horribleness, and I think Internet commet/message board trolls need to start living up to that grand standard.
To be inclusive, you should really tackle a Hanukkah tale, as well. Think of the fear when the oil wouldn’t stop burning …
Please Hanukkah gifts are trully the most depressing thing about that holiday already. Oh boy socks.
Oh, man, that’s an awesome idea. But the last thing I want is get put on the Mossad’s radar. Except for ethnicity, those dudes are just like John Shaft.